


Appropriate Backup

by lucifel



Series: Captain Cold's Adventures in Child Rearing [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Character Study, Flangst kind of, Gen, Lewis Snart's A+ Parenting, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Protective Siblings, Sometimes you start believing your abusive parent and that can fuck with your head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9708380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifel/pseuds/lucifel
Summary: Lisa Snart knows that her brother loves her more than he loves anything in the world.Now if only he would stop trying to replace her with Mick Rory or whoever the f-k else.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In which we see Patrick's introduction to the Flashverse through Lisa's eyes.

Lisa Snart couldn't remember when she'd first started calling Lenny a jerk. At some point though, he'd transitioned from a punk ass kid with a smart mouth (who secretly played Barbie with her) into a sarcastic, calculating bastard who forced her to go to bed and stay in school and even do her stupid homework when he applied _none_ of those rules to himself.

What Lisa _did_ remember was that Lenny had started calling her a trainwreck when she was 19. Back then, it hadn't been an affectionate acknowledgement of all the ways she'd grown and matured as a person so much as it'd been an accurate descriptor. Back then, Lisa had been a community college drop out who partied too hard and drank too much. She'd even fallen into the cliché of replacing her abusive piece of shit father with an abusive piece of shit boyfriend because taking a punch every once in a while had felt easier than watching Lenny work himself into a shallow grave trying to shelter and support her. That phase had lasted barely a year. (Mick had straightened her _right_ up when he'd gotten out of the can that time. And, unlike Lenny, he'd had no compunctions about setting her piece of shit ex on fire right in front of her). But the nickname had stuck, eventually transitioning from a reminder of her failures into a badge of honor she wore proudly.

So, _trainwreck_ or not, Lisa had expected more trust from her brother when it came to his kid.

Lenny's kid wasn't actually Lenny's. Lenny's kid was more like Lisa's kid. By which she meant that she'd been the one to find him and bring him home. Although “find” and “bring home” might've over stated it. It was more accurate to say that she'd tripped over him on her way out of a bar one night and then found him sleeping in the bed of Mick's old pick-up truck the next morning. (Mick's old truck that had been hers for the last fifteen years because the only reason he'd even bought it – like actually paid for it and everything – had been because he'd needed to drive her to school in the mornings and Lenny had read him the riot act about doing something as stupid as taking his precious baby sister anywhere in a boosted car.)

Lisa wasn't really the maternal type, but when she'd seen the kid in the light of day, she'd wondered who her brother had knocked up and _when_. The kid's resemblance to Lenny was _that_ uncanny – even with his eyes closed. But the kid had looked about seven or eight and if he was anything more than six years old then chances were good he wasn't Lenny's. Her big brother had been with Mick for a good long while before their big blow up in Keystone and Lenny didn't cheat. Ever. Then again, _time travel_.  So, just in case, she woke the kid, fed the kid, cleaned the kid, and charmed the kid, (who was named Patrick and surprisingly _not_ skittish given that he was a runaway), into staying for the week it took her to get a DNA test run. As it turned out, Patrick was of no relation to the Snarts. But by the time she’d learned that, Lisa had gotten too attached to just throw him out or, worse, send him back to some foster home. Bad shit happened to pretty kids in foster care. Len and Mick had busted their asses keeping her out of the system for a reason.

So, instead, she went to Caitlin Snow.

Lisa liked Caitlin. She liked her spine, her spark, and her ruthless commitment to what she believed in. Plus, she'd done her research: Caitlin Snow came from the type of money that _got shit done_.

Admittedly, breaking into Snow's apartment and duct taping her to a kitchen chair may not have been the best way to start the conversation she wanted to have.

“Sorry.” She said once Caitlin finally quieted. “But I need you to listen.”

Caitlin, who had reached “finally quiet” via Lisa taping her mouth shut, just glared in response.

“I've got a small problem.” Lisa crouched in front of Caitlin so that they were eye to eye. “He's eight years old and kind of mouthy.” She watched closely as Caitlin's eyes widened then narrowed, drawing the wrong conclusions. Good. She'd get more sympathy – and more help – that way. “He's spent the last couple of years in the foster system. It hasn't gone so well for him.” Lisa turned her eyes away, counting off an appropriate pause the way Lenny had taught her to. Watching Doctor Snow's hands as they stilled against the arms of her chair. “Lenny and I...” and she knew what she had to say next but she was her brother's sister and pride made it hard to admit any kind of ignorance. “Lenny and I don't always know how things work on your side of the street. Where we come from, you end up in the system and thems the breaks. No one gives a damn.” She gave that a minute to sink in. “But things work differently for people like you. So I need to know: how do I get this kid to a good family?”

Caitlin, as Lisa found out, didn't actually know much of anything about how adoptions worked. But her rich mommy had rich, barren, socialite friends who knew reputable, reliable, _effective,_ adoption attorneys.

“Call this one if you want the adoption to be open.” Caitlin said when they met again the next morning at Jitters. “And call this one if you'd rather it be closed.” She handed over two business cards. "His age won't be a problem as long as he doesn't mind having siblings.

“And if I don't have the uh... custody papers?”

“They'll... uh, overlook it.” Caitlin said and Lisa thought, _I guess reputable means something else when you've got money_. “And I um... won't tell anyone.”

Lisa snorted. Like she cared if anyone found out about her tying Caitlin Snow to a chair.

“About your kid I mean.”

“Not my kid”, Lisa told her truthfully.

But Snow clearly didn't believe that. “Yeah. Sure. Look, I get it ok? People in your uh, line of work, worry about family members being used against them. I'm just saying – your secret's safe with me ok? I won't tell anyone. Not even Cisco.” Lisa didn't quite get what prompted that promise, so she just did what Lenny usually did in these situations and made a mental note that she owed Snow one and left.

Unfortunately, by the time she got home, Lenny was already there. Apparently, whatever he and White Canary had been up to in Star City wasn't going to take a full month after all. And if the starry-eyed way Patrick looked at Lenny was to be trusted, they were keeping the kid because Len's complete and utter inability to walk away from wide-eyed admiration was how they'd ended up with at least two thirds of his rogues.

So they'd kept the kid.

And, if Lisa was being honest, she liked it that way.

For the first couple of weeks, it was fine. Better than fine. Lenny did more than his fair share of the chores, kept the fridge stocked with all her favorite foods, and the domesticity seemed to mellow him. Plus, it was fascinating to see things she remembered from her childhood again. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed movie marathons and ice cream sundays and all the silly voices Lenny made when he read bad scifi novels to Patrick at bedtime. Lenny made a good parent and Lisa... well, Lisa could think of worse ways to spend the next decade than raising a stray with her jerk brother. It be a change. Something new.  She thought he felt that way too, so she was more than a little surprised when she came home one random Tuesday to find Mick Rory moving in.

Lisa hadn't expected to see Mick again for at least another year. Lenny had kicked him out of their crew almost as soon as they'd finished their last big heist. It was a thing her idiot brother did every decade or two. Something about giving Mick the choice to go “spread his wings”. And sometimes Mick took him up on the excuse to leave them and sometimes he didn't. But Mick always seemed bewildered by the offer. Seemed to think it meant Lenny was sick of him. Lisa knew better, but never said anything. She understood all too well the guilt that drove her brother to offer Mick those outs every so often. Guilt at never having the things other people their age seemed to have. And guilt at never, ever, catching up no matter how hard they tried, how old they got, or how much money they stole. Guilt over lost childhoods and scarified youths. Guilt over years spent doing laundry and making dinner and bandaging up wounds when most guys their age were out getting laid. But the important point was, Lenny had offered and Mick had left. So why was he here?

“What. The. Fuck.” She asked, barely hiding the edge of anger in her voice. Because the truth was, she got it. She knew. She knew that Len had been lying about heading out for a few days to case a place in Keystone. She knew he'd gone to bring Mick Rory back instead and that lit a flame of anger so hot she'd need Len's cold gun just to bring it down to a simmer. Because if Len went to go get Mick then that meant Len thought he needed him. It meant Len thought she wasn't enough. It meant that, to Len, she was still too much of a kid herself to help him raise a kid and he was dead, dead wrong. She was a god damned 34 year old woman who could pull her own fucking weight. She didn't need Mick fucking Rory stepping in like she was still some snot nosed brat Lenny needed help minding while their father drank himself into mean little snits.

“You tell me.” Mick said in reply. “I been gone less than six months and he picks up a kid? That he wants to “raise right”? That he's spending _money_ to send to school? The fuck is that?” To her surprise the flat affect of his voice calmed her temper down as quickly as if he'd poured water over a candle. It made her look at him and really see: She saw the tension in his shoulders. Saw the deep lines on his brow. Saw the way his hands clenched around the rolled up socks he was throwing into Lenny's dresser. This wasn't Mick after a couple bouts of make up sex, cheerful and relaxed now that he was back in Lenny's orbit. This was her brother's _partner -_ grim and exhausted because he thought Lenny had lost the plot and was about to do something Lewis-level stupid again.

Like raise a kid.

Lisa exhaled, her anger dissipating once she saw how Mick wanted to be here as little as she wanted him here. Lenny and his fucking ideas. “It's all your damn fault.” She said sourly. “All those fancy PhD's on your stupid little time ship got to him.” Because it had. In more ways than she was willing to voice. It had pulled out all Lenny’s old insecurities. Resurfaced all the long buried doubts about his clothes and his words and his manners; about the books he hadn't read and the art he hadn't seen and the experiences he'd never had. “So now he thinks the kid needs some fancy education.”

Mick snorted. Which was more or less how Lisa felt about it too.

“Said to tell you he'd pick the kid up from school today.” Mick told her. “And he's picking up Sushi for dinner.” Which meant Lenny'd anticipated she'd be mad and was trying to suck up. Good.

Lisa sighed. She needed a beer.

“The shower in the upstairs bathroom is on the fritz.” She told Mick. He always fixed up the place when he was around. “Beer's in the body fridge.” She added. “Len doesn't want us drinking too much around the kid.” Not that the extra fridge in the garage was actually a body fridge. They just called it that because it was so ridiculously huge. They never kept anything incriminating at Lisa's. That had been their agreement when she bought the place. Hell, they had enough shell companies that owned enough properties that they didn't _need_ to keep anything at Lisa's.

“Hey,” Mick said, stopping her as she walked away, “I'm not here cuz he doesn't trust you Lise.” Yeah, right. “I”m here because he likes to have at least one of us watching his back on a job. And you can't do that unless I'm here watching the kid.”

 _Maybe_ , Lisa thought, _maybe not._

The beer helped her mood. As did the sushi. But, ultimately, what cheered her up the most that day was the sheer fucking suspicion with which Patrick and Mick regarded each other. It was, in it's own way, hilarious. Patrick had zero fear of Mick despite barely being the size of one of Mick's legs. Mick seemed completely immune to Patrick's cuteness and the puppy eyes that were dead ringer for Lisa's own. Somehow, they'd clearly identified each other as competition for Lenny's attention – which Lenny fucking _loved,_ the jerk. He basked in it for a whole two days before Lisa's glaring got to him and he asked Patrick to give “Uncle Mick” a chance right before handing Mick a copy of the paternity test Lisa had run. By the end of the week, Mick was teaching Patrick how to change the oil in the old truck and Patrick was teaching Mick how a _proper_ blanket fort was supposed to look.  

And Mick being there freed up just enough time for a neat, pretty little emerald heist. _Siblings only._

So maybe bringing Mick home hadn't been all that bad of an idea after all. Lenny was happier. Mick seemed content. And Lisa? Lisa found herself suddenly instituting rules about weapons storage and lights out and sleepovers. (And any Rogues with open warrants on them were instructed to avoid the house. _Or else_.) It was weird, but worth it as Patrick blossomed.

“Are these really all for me?” He asked the first time she'd taken him out shopping. He'd been half suspicious and half calculating. Eying the Star Wars sneakers and the panda backpack and the various super hero themed t-shirts she'd put in their car.

“Well they're sure as shit not going to fit Mick.” She'd replied. Trying to re-enforce as casually as possible that he belonged in their lives.

Patrick almost broke something laughing at the idea of Mick trying to squeeze into the tiny shirts.

Patrick was good for their little family. Every present, every new experience, every Pancake-Sunday breakfast brought Patrick genuine joy. He loved Lenny's awful cooking and Mick's gruff lessons and Lisa fluffing up his hair in the mornings. He especially loved all the movie-nights spent cuddled between Lenny and Mick on the couch, legs hanging over Lisa’s shoulders when she sat on the floor. Hell, six months in, and the only thing Lisa had heard Patrick complain about was the breakfasts Lenny made him eat.

“It's _granola_ Aunt Lisa!” He whined at her, “With YOGURT. Gross plus gross just equals more gross and it's _gross_!” Personally, she agreed. But Lisa remembered too many nights of stale cereal served with cold water from her own childhood to really relate. She remembered days and sometimes weeks when Lenny hadn't been able to hide enough of his takes from their dad to buy them real food.

“I know babe.” She told Patrick. “But Lenny made me eat that crap too. And look how tall I turned out.” She smiled beatifically, “Don't you want to grow up big and strong?”

“Yeah!” Patrick said, “Like Uncle Mick!” and that had been that.

They became Patrick's Aunt Lisa and Uncle Mick and (hilariously), “Captain Dad-I-Mean-Cold” because Patrick couldn't decided what he dared to call Lenny and Lenny was too much of a contrary son of a bitch to decide for him.

It was a pretty good life.

Until the day Mick had disappeared. Not “caught and thrown in jail for arson” disappeared or “got mad at Lenny over something stupid” disappeared. Actual, “went out for milk and never came back” disappeared. _Milk_. At two in the afternoon. 

Neither Lisa nor Lenny  touched their dinner that night.

At six, Lenny called the rogues together at the warehouse, tasking Lisa with watching over Patrick.

At ten, he texted her to say he had at lead.

At one, he sent her a text saying he was heading to Bludhaven. Alone.

At four, Lisa found his cell phone at the warehouse they’d been using as a base of operations.

At six, barely awake and still wearing his mismatched Captain Cold pajama bottoms with his Flash T-Shirt, Patrick suggested that she just drop him off at the babysitter's instead of daycamp so she could go after her brother.

“It'll be funner than camp.” Patrick added, “Because Barry makes me pancakes.” Which was how Lisa found out that Patrick's favorite babysitter was none other than Barry Allen. He of the cute little Bambi eyes that made Mick growl a bit when he turned them on Lenny for too long. Barry Allen who was also - because Lisa wasn't an actual idiot - _The Flash. (_ A conclusion she'd reached by observing his height, weight, voice, and associates. Not because Lenny had ever bothered to tell her. The Jerk.) When she thought about it though, having a superhero as his default babysitter was just like Lenny. Overprotective – and then some.

Lisa wondered whether Barry Allen understood just how much Lenny trusted him to leave Patrick at his place, but she had more pressing issues to address. Like finding Mick and Lenny. So she dropped the kid off with a hug, a backpack, and an overnight duffle telling herself that if Patrick liked Barry, that probably meant that Barry liked Patrick too.

He would be fine.

*

Lisa expected to find Lenny by himself when she got to Bludhaven. At most, she figured he’d have some half competent hired help. Instead, she’d found him holed up in one of the six warehouses they’d taken from the Santini’s in 2015, strategizing with the two halves of Firestorm, Canary, and that obnoxiously pretty billionaire friend of Mick’s. Meaning Lenny had called for backup and his dumb _trainwreck_ of a little sister hadn’t made the cut for the Save-Mick-Rory crew. It took everything she had not to deck him. Decking him wouldn’t have been fair. Lenny never dodged, parried, or hit back when it was Lisa throwing the punch. At most, he’d take the punch and then reach forward to restrain her in a tight hug.

Lenny swore when he saw her. Said something. Tried to explain maybe. But Lisa couldn’t hear him over the roar of blood and adrenaline pounding in her ears.

It wasn’t ok to hit Lenny. Not after how often Lewis had hit him. Not after how many punches Lenny had taken on her behalf. So Lisa turned and threw a hard left at the pretty blonde bitch instead because Lisa hated Sara Lance with a fire she couldn’t explain. She’d never been jealous of Lenny’s girlfriends or boyfriends or hookups before, but Lisa was self aware enough to admit that jealousy was probably a good word for what she felt towards the White Canary. She’d only ever met Sara fucking Lance once, on the day Lenny came home from that jaunt he took on a fucking _time ship_. But once had been more than enough for Lisa to decide she hated everything about Sara Lance. Sara whose asshole cop dad had pulled himself out of the bottle long enough to actually _be_ a dad. Sara whose older sister had gotten to go to college – and law school – because she hadn’t needed to go steal things just to keep them both fed. Sara who ordered Mick around with cool confidence like it was her God given right to talk down to him. Sara Lance who made Lenny’s list of appropriate backup when she, Lisa Snart, didn’t.

White Canary blocked her punch and hit back so fast that Lisa barely dodged the blow. From there it was punch for punch and kick for kick – Lisa realizing somewhere in the back of her head that Sara was holding back – until Kid Flash (because of course Allen had sent someone to tail her) and Jax stepped in to break it up. Lenny didn’t do anything. He just stood there and waited patiently for them to finish.

“Well now that that’s over,” he said while they were still panting from the exertion, “maybe we can actually go get Mick.”

“Yeah?” Lisa asked, “So what’s the plan?”

The plan, as it turned out, was to let Canary lead since she would be the least predictable to the Falcone Family. Lisa may have hated the bitch on sight – but logic was logic and Lenny’s plans were rarely all that far off the mark.

It took Canary almost three days to find Mick and come up with a plan – then one more to call in some ex-girlfriend of hers from Gotham. Mick had gotten caught up in some _accounting_ mix up of all the fucking bullshit. Apparently, he’d taken over some of Santini’s old business interests since moving back to Central. Apparently, he’d been splitting his time between grocery runs and running guns. Apparently, Don Falcone considered that competition. Apparently, Mick hadn’t kept great track of his ledgers. Apparently, Don Falcone thought that meant Mick was too dumb to be the guy in charge. Apparently, Mick was still alive because Falcone wanted to know which Santini was giving the orders.

 _Moron_.

By the time Lisa strolled through Falcone’s door and slinked up to the old man, arm resting in the crook of Lenny’s elbow and an assortment of daggers strapped to her thighs under a hideously red dress, she was ready to kill something just for the hell of it. Falcone really should’ve known better than have such lax security at his granddaughter’s engagement party.

“Don Falcone!” Lenny drawled obnoxiously, sounding like a B-Character in a bad mob movie. Lenny playing a part was Lisa’s least favorite Lenny. (Except when it was actually her favorite). “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you but that would be lying.” His voice dripped with ice even as he smiled, even as he drew a gun and rested the tip of its barrel right up against the old man’s forehead. “There are no Santini’s in Central City anymore. Central City belongs to Leonard Snart. And you should’ve known better than to cross me.”

The old man looked Lenny right in eye, calm as still water even as, around him, gentle laughter faded into grim silence and the clink of champagne glasses was replaced by the click of gun safeties being released. After what felt like an eternity, even to Lisa, the old man grinned. “Oh, I like you.” He said. And then the bullets started flying – except not. More accurately, the bullets would have started flying if Pretty Boy hadn’t chosen exactly that moment to detonate all the tiny explosives he’d spent the last three hours rigging onto all the weapons currently in Don Falcone’s house.

From there, it was a bloodbath. Fists, knives, occasional blasts from Lenny’s cold gun. Afterward, Lisa would remember getting Falcone’s granddaughter in the chest with one of her daggers. She’d remember Lenny freezing Falcone’s son into a statue. She’d remember White Canary screaming at them both to stop killing people instead of watching her own stupid fucking back – which was when Lenny took a punch and a knife to the gut shielding Sara god damned Lance.

Lisa lost it.

She threw Falcone, who she’d been using as a human shield, halfway across the room, breaking his neck against the edge of a table. Then she ran to Lenny, snarling, “Stay away you stupid bitch!” in White Canary’s general direction as she went. “Stay away from my family or I will make you watch me dismantle EVERY last thing you love.” And then she didn’t get to say anything more because she was too busy making sure Lenny’s insides stayed inside him.

Afterward, because she didn’t really remember what happened after that, she found out it was Kid Flash who’d saved her brother by rushing him to the hospital just in time.

She added Barry Allen and Kid Flash to the list of people she owed something to.

*

“You been crying.” Lenny said groggily when he woke up a week later. “Why you been crying?” Implied was, _tell me who made you cry and I’ll go hang him by his balls until he dies._ Which would have been counter-productive in this instance. It was such a Lenny way to wake up that Lisa laughed.

“Jerk!” She said, squeezing the hand she’d barely let go of since they’d put him in this room. “You almost got yourself killed again.”

He smiled weakly at her, watery and soft from all the painkillers they had him on. “Knife to the gut right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll scar?”

“Yeah.”

He winced. Vain thing.

“Mick?”

“Fine.” Firestorm and White Canary’s Gotham friend had gotten him out from Falcone’s basement while the rest of them had provided the distraction upstairs. “He’s getting lunch with Patrick. You should be nice to him when we get you out of here. Pretty sure Mick doesn’t mind a man with a few scars. He might even like them that way.” She shoved some ice chips into his mouth. “And I know you don’t do touchy-feely crap but Patrick’s going to need a hug and possibly a lot of therapy. He’s been asking me every day if you were going to die.”

Lenny looked at her, all blown pupils and pretty smile. “Thanks Sis.” He said with total sincerity. God he really was high as hell. “You still mad at me?”

“No shit.”

“Oh.” Lenny looked genuinely sad – and also genuinely puzzled. With just a touch of little-boy wounded on his face. “You been mad at me all Summer. Spring too.”

Again, _no shit._ Not that she said that out loud.

“How come?”

Lisa just looked at him. They didn’t do this.

“Tell me? Please?”

Lenny didn’t say please. “Now?” She asked.

“Yeah. Now. Cuz…” He waved his other hand, made a vague kind of gesture.

Oh. Right. So they could pretend this conversation had never happened, later. So he could pretend he’d never asked. Son of a bitch.

Lisa sighed. It seemed kind of silly now. “I just figured something out is all.”

He stared at her, eyes just a little less hazy. Gaze just a little sharper. He waited.

Lenny had always been the more patient one.

“I figured out that I don’t count as reliable backup in your book. That’s all. Mick does. Sara Lance does. Pretty Boy does. Hell, even old man _Stein_ gets a call when you’re in trouble. But me? I don’t.” She looked down, concentrating on a smudge of dirt on the toe of her boot. “And I get it you know? I go off the rails worse than Mick when I lose my temper. I -.”

Lenny snorted. She could actually _hear_ him roll his eyes.

“ _That’s_ what this has been about?” He asked. “Really?”

Lisa reminded herself that hurting people confined to hospital beds was wrong.

“Lisa you’re never part of the B-team or the backup plan because 90 times out of 100, if I’m running into a fire fight you’re running into it right beside me.” Which… was… actually kind of true. Kind of.

“You went Time Traveling without me.”

“You hate third wheeling me and Mick.”

“It was TIME TRAVEL Lenny!”

“With a bunch of namby-pamby do-gooders who would’ve driven you insane inside of a week. Look at how much you like Sara.”

“Time. Travel.” She repeated. “I could’ve stolen the Star of India straight out of J.P. Morgan’s hands! Seen the Library at Alexandria!” She wanted to belabor the point but Lenny was already fading. Yawning wide, lashes brushing his cheek.

“Nah.” He said. “Was boring mostly. Traumatizing. ‘Sides, you can’t be my backup cuz you’re supposed to be the star of your own show Lisa. Brightest star in the whole sky. My Lisa.”

And that… that was her big brother all over. Her cheesy, over dramatic, drama queen of a jerk brother. But _her_ brother. Nobody else’s.

“Love you Lenny.” She said softly, pulling out her phone.

“Love you too.” He muttered back, making a kissy noise as if she were tiny again and he were putting her to bed.

Yeah, this was her brother all right.

And she was going to get _so much mileage_ out of the videos she planned to take while he was high on pain meds.

It was going to be a good week.

**Author's Note:**

> You have my thanks if you made it this far. As always, Comments and Kudos are much loved. 
> 
> There might be one more installment in this series (Mick) but I'm not 100% sure yet because I have something else in mind for Mick that I'd like to work on first. 
> 
> Also, I just got a Tumblr and I would love some recommendations for cool blogs to follow: https://lucifel-lurks.tumblr.com/


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